Cora's Journey
by Nutmeg1377
Summary: Newly arrived from Liverpool, Cora must find her uncle, the only living relative she has left. But as her world is falling into pieces, she finds a new family in New York who proves over and over to be there for her.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello all! This is my first FanFiction story, so please review so I can improve. Thank you, enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: if you remember it from the movie, it's Disney's**

Cora stared out at the grand Statue of Liberty and the knot of fear and grief threatened to explode. Her mother would never see the symbol of hope and freedom that she had been dreaming of. Her father would never find a job as a journalist as he had wished, and her little sister, Evelyn would never learn her letters in a proper school.

Cora and her family had started their journey together from their home in Liverpool to the famed New York City at the urging of her uncle who had gone before them and sent back money for their passage. But after the scarlet fever tore through the ship, Cora was on her own to find her uncle in the bustling city.

Now two months after they had received the letter, Cora was standing at the bow of the _Lucille_ , looking around her at America. _How am I ever going to find one man in the midst of thousands?_ She wondered to herself. The letter that held the address for her Uncle Augustus Linsworth was crumpled in the bottom of her bag, the key to her future.

The ship was getting close to shore and the light was draining from the sky. The cool fall wind flicked one of Cora's ebony curls against her face, and she pushed it behind her ear, looking around. Nearly all of the passengers were on deck, taking in the glorious sight of a new start. Only a third of the original seafarers remained. Many had tears streaming down there face at the thought of the loved ones at the bottom of the sea, the ones who would never see this city.

A preacher who had traveled on the ship held a quick meeting on deck. Cora knew it would have upset her mother, but she refused to listen. _If God is the God I was taught about, then why did he let my family die? Isn't he supposed to be loving? Why did he allow so much suffering? What did we do to deserve this?_ She silenced her inward ranting and wiped a stray tear from her cheek. She must stay calm and in control. She had work to do.

Merely half of an hour later the ramp extended across the water to the shore. The passengers, clinging to all they owned, drifted into the hectic sea of the docks of New York. Cora grabbed her only bag and called up all her courage and street smarts she had gained from living in Liverpool, and set of to find her uncle.

Knowing that docks were a treacherous place for bewildered immigrants, especially as it was growing dark, Cora bypassed the workers and drunks, the pubs and the bars, and entered the city.

She knew what she was looking for. She had seen the type in Liverpool, a well lit cafe or restaurant that was filled with customers. That was a safe place to ask for directions.

After walking a few blocks she found the right sort of establishment and ducked inside. The sign above the door read _Tibby's_ in bold red paint.

The place was packed. Long tables filled most of the space and nearly fifty boys sat around them. Several families or couples were seated in the surrounding booths. A jovial man behind the counter hailed her. "Hello miss!" he said with a genuine smile, "how may I help you?"

Several of the boys had noticed her and nudged their friends and whispered. Not in a mean way, just in curiosity, but it still made Cora uneasy. She looked back to the friendly man. "Um, yes, I just arrived from Liverpool and was wondering if you could help me find my uncle."

His eyes twinkled humorously as he said "now that would depend on who you are, who your uncle is, and where he is. Would you mind filling me in?"

Cora laughed nervously and pulled out the letter from her bag. Skipping to the last questions, she responded "his name is Augustus Linsworth and it says here he lives at 347 Livingston St."

The man rubbed his chin with thick, but clean fingers. "Well, I don't know any Linsworth, but I do know where Livingston St. is. That be in Brooklyn."

Cora pulled on a loose curl nervously. She didn't know where Brooklyn was, but the stares of the boys were making her uncomfortable. "Thank you sir, I will head that way then." and she picked up her bag which she had set at her feet and made to leave.

"Here now," the man stopped her with a wave of his hand. "I bet you have no clue where Brooklyn is. If you wait just a second, I can get one of these fellows to escort you."

Cora tried to protest, but it was too late, the man cupped his hands around his mouth and said in a loud, deep voice. "Are there any Brooklyn newsies here this evening?"

After a mortifying pause, a young man whose cap was low over his eyes raised his hand casually. "Yah, Tibbs. I'm 'ere. What about it?"

"Aah! Of course, how could I forget I had the famed Spot Conlon here tonight."

By now all of the boys were listening. Cora wanted to hide. There were newsies in Liverpool. She knew the type. They were thieves and liars and all around not pleasant. _How come such a friendly man lets these vagabonds dine here? Surely he cares about his reputation!_

Cora's mind snapped back in time to hear the boy's response. "Yah, I was thinking that myself." He pushed his chair back, balancing on two chair legs and his own feet. "Now, what's it ya need?"

"This here little lady is looking for her uncle," Mr. Tibby motioned to me. "He lives on Livingston, and so I reckoned you could escort her there. It being in your area and all."

Spot turned to Cora and she felt her face grow hot with humiliation and indignation. _I would never ask a newsie for help back in Liverpool! Why should here be any different?_ But she knew why, because she had no home to go to, she was a stranger in this land, and she needed help.

The newsie seemed to be waiting for her to speak, so she gathered her courage and looked him right in the eyes and said, "I would be ever so grateful if you could help me." Her voice carried strong and true.

Spot's eyebrows went up and he nodded his head. "Okay, I'll get ya there. But let me finish my card game 'ere." He cocked his head as if to invite her over. Cora glanced nervously at Mr. Tibby, but when he nodded encouragingly, she went to sit in the offered seat.

Cora sat ramrod straight with her hands grasping the handles of her bag in her lap. She was near the end of one of the long tables. She quietly observed the boys around her. They were joking and laughing together, sharing food and swapping stories of their exploits that were most definitely not true. All this comradeship puzzled Cora. The newsies in Liverpool frequently fought and never shared, they worked alone in a 'looking out for number one' kind of way. The newsies she found around her acted more like friends, no, like family. At that thought her chest ached, but before she could fight of the wave of grief that had been threatening to break since the day her family died, Spot spoke.

"So, introductions." He drawled in a heavy accent. "I be Spot Conlon, King of Brooklyn. This 'ere is Pickle, another Brooklyn newsie" He pointed his thumb at a thin, slightly older looking boy next to him. _Pickle,_ Cora thought, _I wonder how he got that name._ But she didn't have time to ask.

"Now on your right there is Jack Kelly," Spot continued, "the leader of Manhattan, he improved the workin' conditions for all us newsies, but we don't let that go to his head."

Several of the newsies chuckled and Jack held out his hand and said "nice to meet ya." Not wanting to appear rude, Cora loosened her grip on her bag and shook his hand. Her small, thin fingers nearly disappeared.

Spot continued, "on the other side of you is Racetrack, but everybody calls him Race." Race nodded and went back to contemplating his cards. "These other boys have names too, but they aren't all that important." Several groans and a "thanks a lot Spot" followed that comment, but it was all said in good humor. Cora removed her death-like grip on her bag and let it rest between her feet. "and now what's your name?"

"Cora,"she whispered. Then louder, "my name is Cora."

Jack smiled at her. "Nice accent Cora!"

The newsies still engaged in the conversation laughed. Cora looked at them, half worried, half offended. "What? Have you never heard an English accent before?"

Jack responded, "not that often, no. While many come through here from Europe, most keep on going till they hit a place with more room." He smirked "if only I could join them." Cora gave a puzzled look and he answered her unspoken question. "I want to go to Santa Fe. Always have."

While the two were talking the card game had obviously ended. Spot and Pickle each slid a coin across the worn table to Race, to apparent winner. Nobody looked surprised.

"Good game Race," Spot said, standing up. He turned to Jack "Thanks Jacky boy, see you 'round." They each spit into their palms and shook. Cora grimaced and reminded herself not to shake hands with these boys ever again. Although in a few hours, she would probably have no need of seeing any of them ever again. Spot called across the tables. "Brooklyn, we're headed out!" about a dozen boys stood, slapping backs, shaking hands, laughing, and joking. The young man turned to her. "Miss Cora," and he motioned to the door.

Cora rose, and followed the swaggering Spot Conlon out of the diner, saying a quick "thank you" to Mr. Tibby on her way out. Now to find her uncle


	2. Chapter 2

Cora tugged on the sleeve of her sweater as they stepped back into the cold New York night. Spot and Cora walked side by side behind the rest of the Brooklyn newsies who continued laughing and joking with one another. As they walked, Spot asked, "So, Cora, what's a girl like you doin' crossing the big blue all by ya'self?"

She hesitated to answer, then decided there would be no harm in it. "I didn't start out on my own. I began the journey with my parents and little sister. But after the scarlet fever..." she trailed off. Cora refused to let the tears overcome her, and each time she pushed the knot down, it became a little easier.

Spot looked down at her. Although he was somewhat short, Cora's petite stature made him the taller one by a good four inches. He quite enjoyed the advantage."Aw, that's tough, 'specially since you're in a new place. Ya see, most of us newsies have no family, but we are family to each other."

After seeing how they acted with each other at the diner, Cora believed him. She nodded, "yes, I can see that. How wonderful to have friends that close. I had no one but my family. And now I have no one but an uncle I have never met." She drew back her unruly hair into a low ponytail and tied it with a blue strip of cloth, some dark curls escaped, but she ignored them.

"Well, don't be so glum, He might be a nice rich fella who can afford cake every Sunday. Who knows." Spot shrugged his shoulders and stuck his hands into his pockets. It wasn't like him to care about anyone else, but this girl looked so down in the dumps that even he couldn't help it.

"You really think so? I haven't seen him since I was a little girl." The hope in her sea blue eyes melted Spot's heart, just a fraction.

"Sure," he said in his heavy accent. "Okay, here be Livingston street. You boys go on ahead, we'll only be a second." the rest of the Brooklyn gang continued on but Spot and Cora turned down the street. "what number is it again?"

"347" Cora whispered. She couldn't believe she was so close to the only family she had left.

The two walked a few more blocks in silence. Then Spot stopped in front of a house and declared, "347 Livingston st. ya new home."

Cora looked hopefully at the house, and deflated a bit. It was a dull brown and not too large. The garden was overgrown, as if it had been neglected for several months. Cora stepped toward the house. Spot made to leave, but Cora spun around to him. "Please, don't leave me yet."

"Sure then, whatever ya say." Spot responded with a smirk.

Cora gave him a grateful look and continued on to the house. She took a deep breath, feeling Spot's comforting presence behind her, which puzzled her, but then in a way, it didn't. Spot had been the only one in this new world who had really seemed interested in her plight.

Cora knocked. She winced at the sound reverberating through the house. But other than that no noise was heard. She hesitated, then knocked again. No answer.

"Now that's strange," Spot said. He craned his neck to see in the windows but they had thick curtains that obstructed his view. "Wait 'ere, I'll check around back."

And like that he was gone. Cora wrapped her arms around herself to stop from shivering. She remembered another time, years ago when she was this nervous. Cora had thought she had lost her sister, Evelyn, in the streets of Liverpool. She finally found her looking in the window of a ribbon shop. When she had recounted how scared she was to her mother, she had told Cora that whenever she was afraid she could turn to God and he would always be there for her. She shook her head to dislodge that thought. _Where was God when my family died? I called on him, but he never answered. Now here I am, I can make my own way without him._

Spot came back around the house. He shrugged his shoulders, "I didn't see anybody, but I did see that the rooms were nearly empty. It looks as if no one has lived there for awhile." He saw the expression on her face and added, "here now, let's ask the neighbor."

They went over to the adjoining house where there was a soft, warm light, in the window. This time Spot knocked. Soon enough an elderly man came to to the door. "Yes?" he questioned.

"Evenin' sir. This young miss just arrived from Liverpool and is looking for her uncle, Augustus Linsworth, who we's think lived next door, do ya know anything 'bout that?" Spot drawled.

The man looked sadly at Cora. "So sorry miss, ol' Linsworth died of a heart attack 'bout two months ago. Nobody lives there, though I believe the bank has taken it and will resell it."

"Thanks anyways gov'ner," Spot responded.

"'Course, good luck to ya two." And with that he shut the door.

Cora's mind reeled. "I never thought- never imagined-" She felt the tears coming quickly and tried her best to stifle them, but the hot moisture on her cheeks testified that she had failed. _Now what am I going to do?I never prepared for this. Fool! Fool!_ She crumpled on the steps and Spot was quick to sit next to her.

Spot took her by her shoulders and shook her. "Cora! Get a hold of ya'self goil. We'll get ya a place for tonight then we'll figure this out tomorrow, okay." Spot looked straight into her eyes, just like he did when he found a poor young orphan. Although he was self-centered and cocky, he could also be gentle to the young if he had to. And though Cora wasn't that young, this was one of those times.

Cora gulped and steadied her breath. "Okay, Spot, whatever you say. I have no one but you to trust now." She grasped his wrist with a slim hand, and they rose from the steps.

Spot placed his arm around her shoulder, "Well then Cora, let's go to ma home. It's just down the way."

Cora nodded and with her bag in her hands and Spot's arm supporting her, she left her past behind.


	3. Chapter 3

Spot looked at the girl at his side. She had been through quite a lot and wasn't as hardened to misfortune as most of the newsies were. Spot puzzled at the feeling that had awakened in him from the moment she had stared defiantly at him and asked for his help. He had stifled it as best he could, but it was hard, especially when Cora had grasped his arm like he was her lifeline.

Spot was the King of Brooklyn, and he didn't get the position for being a good guy. He was king because he was ruthless and fearless. When Cora had looked at him with those big blue eyes, Spot almost believed he could be good.

 _Of course that was nonsense,_ he thought to himself as they made their way to the docks. _I am who I am, and no goil had ever changed that, and never would._

"'Ere it is. Ma kingdom." Spot said as they arrived. Cora wiped her eyes and looked around. Spot surveyed his home.

On the side nearest the city several small huts leaned against each other. On the water side a sort of watchtower rose from the dock like a mast, complete with crow's nest. Between were a couple of overturned wheels serving as tables with lanterns shining light over them. Most of the boys were in the huts, asleep, but Pickle and a few others were seated around a 'table' playing a card game. Pickle was the first to spot them.

"Ay, Spot! Wanna be dealt in?" Then he noticed Cora trailing along beside him. "What's she doin' here? Didn't find her uncle did ya?"

Cora let out a little squeak, and Spot glared at Pickle. "Her uncle died some months back. She's here because I'm not gonna leave her on the street. Now shut your trap about it."

Pickle shrugged and turned back to the game. Spot escorted Cora to the hut at the end of the line. "This here be ma room, ya can have it for tonight, and tomorrow we'll get everything figured out."

Cora stepped into the room and sat down on the bed. She didn't say a word but gave him a grateful look before laying down.

He shut the door softly. Spot ran a hand through his caramel colored hair and heaved a sigh. _Now I need to figure out what I'm gonna do..._ He nodded at the newsies still up then ducked into the adjoining hut, choosing an empty bunk next to the wall. _Well, she needs a job and a place to stay. We'll try Medda's first to see if Cora can get a job there._ With this plan in mind, Spot removed his hat and shoes and lay down to sleep.

Spot woke from his listless sleep then couldn't remember what woke him. The noise repeated itself, a snuffling coming through the thin wall next to him. Crying? Then it hit him. The girl he met yesterday, she was sleeping in the next room, and she must be the one crying. He slipped on his shoes to protect his feet from the freezing pavement. He quietly and carefully exited the hut and went to the next door. He hesitated, then knocked.

The noise halted, then he heard the creak of the cot, and Cora was at the door. Her pale skin shone in the moonlight, and her wild, curly hair created a halo around her face. She still wore her dress and sweater, which was wise this time of year.

Cora wiped the back of her hand across her eyes and spoke in a wobbly voice, "yes Spot? Do you need something?"

Spot was taken aback at her loveliness, even with tears drying on her face, that it took him a moment to register what she had said. He shook his head and replied, "oh, nah Cora, I's just checking in on ya. How ya doin'?"

Cora stepped back into the room and left the door open. Spot followed her and sat next to her on the bed. "Oh, Spot, they came to me last night. I-I just-can't!"

He was confused, and his face showed it. "Who? Who come to ya? Ma boys weren't supposed to disturb ya. If they did-"

"No, none of your newsies. My family, that's who came. In a dream." Cora said with a far off, pained look. "They came, and they told me how disappointed they were, that I let them die, that I failed them. And I just can't take it!" By this time Cora was sobbing in her hands again.

Spot's eyes grew large and all he wanted to do was wrap her in his arms, but that would be foolish, so instead he said "Cora. Cora! Look at me. That's all garbage and lies. There's no way you could have stopped the scarlet fever, you did nothing wrong."

Cora looked up at him with her blue eyes and he saw a war inside her. Part of her longing to accept his words as true, and part determined to carry the guilt of their deaths. Spot looked around him for something that could comfort her, and his eyes rested on a worn, leather bound book that had be placed on the small table. He reached over and grabbed it. He flipped a few pages and recognized it as a Bible.

Spot never put any stock in God or all that religious stuff, but his mum had before she died, and so he knew his way around fairly well. _If Cora had toted this across the sea, then it must mean somethin' to her,_ Spot figured, _Maybe I can find some verse that will cheer her up._

And so, with one arm around the shaking shoulders of the distraught Cora, and the other hand flipping furiously through the book, Spot reached into the depths of his memory. Soon enough he found a verse that his mum had repeated over and over to him, and with a voice full of accomplishment and confidence in the outcome of this plan, he recited, "'For I know the plans I have for ya,' declares the LORD, 'plans to prosper ya, and not to harm ya, to give ya a hope and a future.'" He smiled at her. "Now what do ya think about that? Ya gonna be all right, it says right here."

But Cora didn't respond the way Spot thought she would. She just cried harder. "Uh...okay, guess it's not as comforting." Spot shrugged and set the Bible back on the table. "ah, well, come here."

Cora wrapped her arms around his waist and sobbed into his shoulder, letting out all the tears and fears that she had tried to bottle up for some weeks. Spot was surprised at first, then gathered her in his arms and rocked her gently back and forth, crooning to her, until, utterly exhausted, she drifted into unconsciousness. He laid her down on the bed, then not wanting to leave her in case she woke up, grabbed anything soft that he had in this room, and made a bed for himself on the floor.

As Spot lay there, to high strung to sleep, he puzzled at his actions. He required tough hides and iron rod backbones from his newsies, and no girl he had ever been involved with had made him feel the way he felt when Cora had melted into his arms. _Maybe that's what having a sister is like. I've never had a sister, but I feel protective of her, and that's what brothers are, right? Protective?_ Spot tossed and turned on his uneven bed until he heard rustling, shouts, and jokes from the other huts. It was morning, and he had lots to do.


	4. Chapter 4

Cora woke up and stared at the ceiling, confused. Above her head were wooden slats, not the white washed plaster of her home in Liverpool. She did not feel the rocking of the ship, and she was in a bed, not a hammock. She heard a loud voice and a resounding laugh, and remembered. _The newsies. Her uncle. And,_ her cheeks grew warm, _Spot._ She had finally broken down, and he was the one who had comforted her. _He must think I'm a weak, sappy girl._ She sighed, _Ah, well, maybe I am._

She got up from the straw cot, groaning. She was sore and exhausted. Cora reached the door and looped the leather strip that hanged there around the handle, creating a lock, then went back to her bag. She pointedly ignored her mother's Bible that she had brought with her. The verse Spot had read last night was still echoing in her head. "Plans to prosper you..." she whispered then shook her head. It wasn't true, and she must stop her foolishness.

Five minutes later she had changed into her extra skirt, which was dyed a deep red hue, and the only shirt she had, a plain white one. She pulled back on her black sweater and sensible, yet ratty shoes. Her hair she had tried to tame into a bun, but her curls stuck out haphazardly, so she had to be content with a bumpy braid that laid over her shoulder. She collected her things in her bag, even the Bible, and left the room.

It was surprisingly a great deal colder on the other side of the thin door. Cora shivered. As she emerged, the clamorous noises died down. A group of twenty to forty young men from barely seven to possibly over eighteen watched her. Cora sought a friendly face and found it in Spot, who stood in the middle of the group. He was looking at her strangely, she saw concern and pity, but that wasn't all.

"Good mornin' miss." It wasn't Spot who spoke, and Cora searched for the voice. "I hope you had a lovely night's rest." The voice dripped with sarcasm. There. It was Pickle, and he had a smirk on his slimy face. A couple of the older boys chuckled at this, but Spot glared at him.

"I told ya Pickle, no teasing, and no disrespect. And that's both, so shut it." Spot said, then turned to the rest of the group, "actually, it's time for all of you to go carry the banner, so get out of here!" And he shooed them out of the haven in a strict and forceful way, yet still good-naturedly.

The newsies scramble to grab pieces of a loaf of bread that lay on one of the tables, or drink a sip from the bottle of creamy white milk that perched on another wheel.

One young boy tore of a generous chunk of bread and handed it to Cora. "'Ere ya go, miz." He said with a slight lisp.

Cora crouched down and gently took the bread from his hands, too worn for a child. "Thank you sir; I much appreciate the gesture. And who might you be?"

The boy wiped his red nose on the back of his hand. "I'm Peter, but everyone calls me Sniffs."

Cora could see where the name came from, he seemed to have a pretty severe cold. He needed some hot tea and a warm blanket, but she knew there was no way she could get those things, so she said. "Well, it's mighty fine meeting you, Peter, or Sniffs. Good luck on selling today."

Sniffs nodded and slipped in with the group that was vacating the area. Many glanced over at her then commented to their comrades, laughter ensued. She chose to ignore their childish behavior and held her head high as she rose from where she had been talking with the little boy.

Spot had materialized next to her, and it nearly gave her a heart attack. Cora laid her hand on her furiously beating heart. "Dear me, Spot. You scared me." He was so close that she could smell him, and he didn't smell that great. It was a mix of saltwater, newsprint, dirt, smoke, and a hint of sweet alcohol. Cora refrained from gagging, but stepped nonchalantly away from him.

Spot smirked at her. "Come on, we have places to be too." And he slung her bag over her shoulder, not waiting for her. Cora followed.

It was a dreary, overcast day, nothing like the sunshine and blue sky of yesterday. The sky was a blank gray and it drizzled halfheartedly, just enough to get one wet, but not enough to send you running for cover in the shops. Flower girls and newsies still roamed the streets, along with those who couldn't afford a carriage to transport them.

Cora was intrigued. Sure, she was used to big cities, but New York had a different feel to it. It wasn't that it was cleaner, or that there weren't distinct classes, for those were quite plain to see. Then she understood. She watched flower girls laugh and complement each others' flowers. Farmers opened doors for other farmers, giving up their right to be next in line to sell their goods. She overheard a shoe shiner directing a customer to other shoe shiner, telling him how good he is. Although these people were cast off and ignored by the rich and powerful, they had each others' back. In Liverpool it was a race to see who could get on top, here in New York they were a community. They stood up for one another.

Spot turned around and watched Cora survey her surroundings. "Everyone is so nice and supportive." She wondered aloud.

Spot nodded and answered her unspoken question. "It was all that Jack Kelly's doing. He brought us together against Pulitzer and all those big shots, about two years ago now. You can't go through a revolution of sorts together and not be family." He slowed his step to match hers and readjusted the bag on his shoulder. "Sure there's still the rare idiot who thinks only of himself. But the rest of us, family." He smiled at her for a second too long, and Cora felt heat rising to her cheeks. Then he stopped.

"Here we are, Medda's. We'll just go 'round to the side now." The two passed by the large picture of a blonde lady reclining in a silky purple dress and the lighted entrance and slipped around down a alley. Spot opened a door and ushered her in.

They were hailed immediately by a gorgeous woman who must be the famed Medda. "Oh, Spot, I didn't know I was going to have the King of Brooklyn in my studio today. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Spot whipped off his newsie cap and bowed over Medda's outstretched hand, full of charm. "The lovely Swedish Meadowlark. How are ya?"

"Oh, ever the charmer, Spot!" She threw back her head and laughed a perfect peal.

Spot winked at Medda, and Cora felt a twist of jealousy in her gut, which she fought to repress.

Medda finally noticed Cora. "Oh! Now who is this, Spot? She sure is a beauty." Medda took Cora's chin between two finely manicured fingers and tilted her head back and forth.

"This is Cora, she's fresh in from Liverpool," Spot said, searching distractedly in a box behind them. He rose victorious with a crystallized stick candy and popped it in his mouth. "She's got no family left, and I was wonderin' if you could use her here."

Cora jerked her head at that, _I don't want stay here with this lady. Especially since I don't know what kind of business she runs._

She heard Medda's tinkling voice over her thoughts. "Oh, well, let's see. Can you play an instrument?"

Cora was so taken aback by the question she answered. "I played the fiddle a bit before we had to sell it."

"Oh dear, we already have a fiddle player, and a mighty fine one too." Medda shook her head.

Cora looked around her at the multitude of boxes overfilling with gaudy fabrics and featers, and at the illuminated mirror and counter that took up a whole wall, strewn with brushes, powder, and lipstick. She finally realized where she must be. She was backstage. Medda obviously was the star of the show they preformed. Spot was trying to get her a job. She blushed, _how sweet of him._

"Why don't you sing me a little tune?" Medda was asking her.

Cora obliged and sung a lullaby her mother used to sing every night for her and Evelyn. Her voice was good, and carried well, but it wasn't stage worthy.

"Hmm..." Medda said, furrowing her brows in a way that still looked attractive. "I really wish I could help you, but we don't have a need right now. I'm so sorry dear."

Spot looked dejected and scowled, but Cora's heart soared, she didn't like Medda all that much.

The two of them left soon after, Medda hurrying off to perform her next show. They walked in silence for a bit. _What if he is disappointed in me?_ Cora asked herself, frowning, _What if he was hoping to get rid of me there, and now he's stuck with me?_ She shook her head. She had to stop this kind of thinking. "I'm sorry." She said.

Spot whipped his head around to stare at her, halting midstride. "You, sorry?"

Cora halted too and turned to face him. "Well, yes." She ducked her head. "You seemed angry at me. I'm sorry I'm not musically talented, and that I didn't try hard enough..."

Spot shook his head, dumbfounded, "oh, Cora, I'm not angry at you, I'm angry at maself. I don't have any other ideas for ya..."

"Well, Spot, if you wouldn't mind, I would like to try being a newsie." She stared at the ground, blushing furiously. " I know I'm kind of shy, and I may not do that well, but I'm willing to try and earn my way here and-" She glanced up to see his reaction and stopped. He was grinning from ear to ear.

"Cora, I think that is a fine idea. Startin' tomorrow, I'll teach ya to be a newsboy, er, newsgirl, I mean."

She took his hand in both of hers and squeezed it. "Oh, thank you Spot! I won't let you down, I promise!"

He smirked, "course ya won't. Now, if we was in Brooklyn I'd take you to Moser's Diner, were us Brooklyn newsies crash after a mornin' of sellin'. But since we're still in 'Hattan, let's head to _Tibby's_. Lunch is on me," and the pair resumed walking, chatting all the way.

 _Tibby's_ was crowded. The long tables were lined by newsies varying in age, size, and loudness. The booths and side tables were mostly occupied by groups of gabbing gentleman in business suits, several perusing crisp newspapers.

The friendly young man from last night, Jack Kelly, hailed them. "'Ey Spot, I wasn't expectin' you today." He called, "and, Cora was it?"Didn't know I was goin' to see ya again. So, where's ya uncle?"

Cora's hands turned clamy, and she sent a pleading look to Spot. He answered Jack, "it's a long story Jacky-Boy, but the point is Cora is gonna be a newsie with us."

She smiled gratefully up at him, Jack noticed and didn't press the question, but bent into a deep bow, tricky in the crowded room. "Welcome to the family Cora. Why hadn't I thought of it before? A gurl newsie! That would definitely help with sales, a pretty face to look at, instead of us rough mongrels."

Cora's attention shifted as a group of the newsies at the far side of the room cheered. It appeared that a young, redheaded boy had just beaten the one she remembered as Race in a game of cards. She smiled at the triumph of the obvious underdog.

Jack took this moment to announce the news. "Listen up fellas! I'd like ya all to welcome the newest member of the Brooklyn newsies, Cora!" He swept his arms towards her in a great arc, Cora felt her face grow hot as the room went silent. Then one, then another newsie began to clap. Soon, the whole group of them was cheering. She was drawn into the group of them, and when she landed in a wooden chair across from the red haired young man, she felt completely accepted into this large, enthusiastic, rowdy family. Her back was sore from being slapped, her hand ached from being pumped up and down, and her cheeks burned from the wide grin stretching across her face.


End file.
